


Some Extra Hours

by President_Frankenstein



Category: Regular Show
Genre: Kissing, M/M, implied nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 21:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11631894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/President_Frankenstein/pseuds/President_Frankenstein
Summary: Mordecai suddenly has to pay out a lot more in student loans, and is bugging out.Rigby suggests he ask Benson for some extra hours.





	Some Extra Hours

Rigby leaned into the usual groove he’d worn into the couch, well satisfied with himself as the console booted up. For once, he’d won at Rock Paper Scissors, meaning it was Mordecai who had to get the mail. This was also an ironclad guarantee that he’d be able to play as Player 1, an even rarer victory. He watched the console’s fan port with half-interest, wondering if it’d be enough to stir a nearby corn chip.

He was just starting to wonder how long that same chip had been there, when the front door squeaked open, lightly bouncing off the wall. Mordecai, evidently panicking, was holding a paper folded in thirds against his head with his right hand, and chopping the air with his left.

“Oh no, oh my god, oh no, oh my god,” he murmured, with clockwork timing. Mutter, chop, mutter. Rigby would’ve taken the opportunity to make a remark about him being “a drinking bird but with anxiety,” but something was clearly too wrong to poke fun at. Rigby was well aware of how worse bad news could be when it came on paper.

“Dude, what’s wrong? You’re spazzing out right now,” he asked, almost struggling to lift himself out of the couch.

“It’s bad dude, it’s bad,” Mordecai barely looked at him as he spoke, “Apparently like, they increased the interest rates on my student loans or something? So now I owe like another few hundred dollars every month? I’m freaking out, this is gonna bankrupt the crap out of me, and I can’t just ask my parents t-”

“ **Dude** ,” Rigby grunted simply. That seemed to work. Mordecai had stopped chopping and babbling. Now, he just seemed to be staring at the ceiling, almost in a trance. It was an improvement, Rigby guessed.

“Dude, just ask Benson for a few extra hours,” Rigby suggested, resting an elbow on the arm of the couch, “You’ll make it up easy. Now take a chill pill, siddown, and play some Strong John’s.”

“Rigby!” the blue jay snapped, unintentionally going on the defense very hard, “That won’t work on our wages! I’d have to work like seventy-two hours a day at that rate, and that’s not even possible!”

“Relaaax, dude, just do what my parents do whenever they have money troubles.”

“What’s that?”

“They say they dip into something called a home equity line of credit.”

“…And what’s _that?_ ”

“I dunno,” the raccoon shrugged, “But apparently it’ll make our house worthless in twenty years if we keep dipping into it.”

“I’ll need to get a second job or something, dude, this is insane.” Mordecai flopped down onto the couch, arms stretched over the top, in a sort of ‘I give up, death take me now’ pose. Rigby sat down next to him, raising his own arms in an empathizing way.

“…That art degree’s really getting you places h- _ **OW!**_ ” He held his arm. That punch had been harder than usual. He’d made remarks about his friend’s chances with Margaret and not even been punched that hard.

“This is serious, dude! College debt’s like a trillion dollar market now or whatever! I could be leaving this debt to my kids!”

“ _Talk_. To Benson,” Rigby hissed, still holding his arm. Mordecai’s face softened, and he let his arms fall to his sides. There really wasn’t anything to lose. Maybe just yet another empty threat about being fired, or a “Not my problem.”

He decided to just get it over with while he was still down with the idea, walking down the hallway with head hung low, leaving Rigby to play against the CPU. Rigby sat for a moment, made sure Mordecai was gone, and absolutely dove onto the coffee table to claim the corn chip.

The blue jay knocked on the door, ready for a brow beating. Maybe it’d subconsciously get him on Benson’s good side, just a little bit. It was better than his usual habit of just walking in.

“Come,” blurted a voice, sternly.

He found Benson immersed in his work as usual, practically mashing the keys on a machine calculator, which clicked and hissed every two seconds or so, the little roll of paper unwinding just a bit more off the edge of the desk.

Mordecai had to hand it to Benson: when he had a task at hand, he hit the ground running. No excuses, no procrastinating, just getting right to it. That’s probably why he had become Park Manager practically at Mordecai’s age.

“What,” the gumball machine almost spat, not even looking up or adding a questioning affliction to the word. Mordecai awkwardly rolled one hand around the other, the same way a child does as they slowly reveal to their parents that they broke a vase.

“Hey Benson, uhhh… college loans are kind of tough right now-”

“Mm.”

“Yeah, so I was kind of wondering if like… I could maybe get some extra hours or something?”

Benson sat bolt upright in his chair, eyes narrowed and boring holes into the blue jay’s faces.

“…Some extra hours?” He almost sounded insulted. Mordecai stopped knotting his fingers up and tried to look into his boss’ eyes. It wasn’t easy. In his profession, Benson had learned how to make someone feel pathetic very well.

“…You want some extra hours, when you barely put effort into the ones I give you?”

Mordecai gulped, his hands beginning to twist again, involuntarily. Benson stared at him for another few seconds, before pinching the bridge of his nose, and breathing deeply.

This sucked. This absolutely sucked. Merely by putting it all out into a few choice words, and making a show of trying to calm down, Benson had sent an utter tidal wave of guilt washing over the blue jay. He suddenly felt like a hypocrite, a leech, a thief even. He wouldn’t blame Benson if he actually went and fired him right then and there. Mordecai was convinced he deserved nothing more, nothing less. He'd even thank him.

“Alright.”

“I’ll just pack my th- …what?”

“I said ‘alright.’“

“Really? W… Why?”

Benson opened his eyes now, and clapped one forearm onto the desk. He looked up at Mordecai, wearing an expression that was severe, yet knowing.

“Things are tough for guys your age, I’m aware of that,” Benson started, not blinking, “You have no way of paying off your loans before you’re fifty, half the time you don’t even have a use for your degrees, most of you don’t even move out until you’re in your thirties, and even then you barely have the time or money to start a family.”

Mordecai was now reminded of Benson’s “My Cat’s a Demo-cat” bumper sticker.

“…So, I’ll try and meet you halfway. I honestly couldn’t give you anymore work at the park if I wanted to. I have to give all you guys your fair share. _So,_ ” he folded his arms, “You’ll work for me, outside the park, on part of the money I make. I’m obviously not gonna use taxpayer money to pay you for doing work outside the park, right?”

“No yeah, totally,” Mordecai nodded, grinning shyly, “But, ummmm… I don’t know how to put this, after you decided to do this for me, but like… what would I do for you? O-Outside the park, I mean?”

“Whatever I need you to do,” Benson allowed himself a smile, closing his eyes and twiddling his thumbs, “Get my coffee, take out my trash, that kind of thing.” Mordecai’s hands stopped wringing.

“I’m gonna be your… errand boy?” he asked. The gumball machine twirled a leg, and put it up on the desk. He folded his arms behind his head. He was really reveling in this, Mordecai noticed.

“Yep. _But not like that,_ ” Benson brought his leg down and practically prodded a finger into Mordecai’s chest, “No errand boy of mine’s gonna walk around nude. We’re going to get you some proper intern clothes tomorrow. I’ll pay, don’t worry.”

Mordecai was beginning to feel that he’d made a grave, grave mistake.

Practically as soon as the mall opened, (Benson was quite the morning person,) they went to get Mordecai suited up. He was “issued” three white dress shirts, three pairs of black skinny jeans, three white belts, and three pairs of black Converse. The topper was of course the bubblegum pink tie that was absolutely compulsory.

From there, the job was fairly impersonal, at least for a few weeks. Mordecai would report to Benson’s apartment every day, seven days a week, at six thirty a.m. on the dot. There, he’d receive a list of tasks, the keys to Benson’s station wagon, and his debit card. He had to accomplish everything on the list before starting his usual job at the park at eight.

The first day felt utterly degrading. The second day was okay at best. By the third day, he had settled into the routine, and was almost enjoying himself. The pay was good, very good, and even though he was well aware of his errand boy status, Mordecai still felt a sense of freedom as he drove through town, the windows down and his mixtape playing. He barely wondered how Benson could afford to pay him for all this and still support himself.

But then, after the first few weeks, Mordecai was thrown for a loop when Benson began coming along with him to get the coffee, to return library books, to buy groceries and pet supplies. More often than not, Mordecai was merely carrying bags or even just keeping his boss company. Sometimes he wouldn’t even do the driving. What was he paying him for?

Occasionally they’d talk over coffee for so long that they’d run out of time to do the other things on the list. Mordecai felt like a sort of door had opened when he and Benson had begun these coffee talks. He quickly learned that Benson was far more human than he let off on the job. Benson, as it turned out, was incredibly well-read, with a keen interest in politics and history, and had dabbled in sculpting in his late teens. He was also chock-full of funny stories about his days as a groundskeeper at the park, and it came as a great shock to Mordecai when he found out that Benson, Skips, and the others at the time very often got into scrapes as bad as he did with Rigby, if not worse. He’d practically been made Park Manager to be kept off the park and out of trouble.

Admittedly, it was a bit embarrassing at first when Benson tasked Mordecai with holding his clipboard as he dished out chores at the beginning of every day at the park. This drew all sorts of remarks from Rigby and Muscle Man, who asked if Mordecai had to call Benson “Mr. Dunwoody,” or if they were planning a book about the whole affair, called “Fifty Shades of Gay.”

These quips soon stopped when the two found out that Mordecai was getting paid three times what they earned, and that was before tips. Afterwards they were practically jealous. A red line was crossed when Mordecai was allowed a half-hour break specifically for playing video games, while Rigby wasn’t.

Mordecai was on Easy Street. As it turned out, his college was being sued for the hike in loan interest rates that had prompted him to become an errand boy in the first place, and before he knew it, he was back to paying the usual manageable amount he had earlier.

But he wasn’t going to let that stop him playing errand boy, and it wouldn’t stop Benson letting him play errand boy either.

Something clicked between them one day when, apparently without intending to do so, Benson gave Mordecai a kiss on the cheek as they left his apartment for the park. There was an awkward, unbearably awkward and silent drive to the park. But the minute they parked, it all made sense. Benson had fallen for Mordecai, and vice versa.

A week after the event, Mordecai was just about to leave Benson at his door and get his chores done. For some unspecified reason, his boss wouldn’t come along. Mordecai was about halfway down the hall to the stairs when his boss called him back.

“Yeah dude?” he asked.

“…You wanna know the real reason I have you wear that damn tie?” Mordecai just stood there. He hadn’t honestly given it any thought.

“It was so I could do this.”

In one swift movement, Benson wrapped that stupid, stupid tie around his fist, and yanked Mordecai in, for what was easily the most passionate kiss he’d had with anyone up to that point. Within seconds, Mordecai recovered from his stupor, closed his eyes, and returned it, tilting his head and resting his hands on the lower half of Benson’s head. Benson apparently worked as hard at kissing as he did anything else. There was head stroking, sighs against lips, a moan or two, tongue even. He tasted exactly how Mordecai imagined he would: a mixture of bubblegum, coffee, and cigarettes. Mordecai couldn't get enough of it. He couldn't get enough of Benson.

But they broke apart, breathing heavily.

“…You and I aren’t going to work today, errand boy.”

“Why?”

“Come inside and you’ll find out.”


End file.
